Of teaching letters to a lisping Miss!”-- “My dear, my gentle Dorothea, say, 60 Can I oblige you?”--“You may go away.” Twelve heavy years this patient soul sustain’d } This wasp’s attacks, and then her praise obtain’d, } Graved on a marble tomb, where he at peace remain’d. } Two daughters wept their loss: the one a child With a plain face, strong sense, and temper mild, Who keenly felt the mother’s angry taunt, “Thou art the image of thy pious aunt.” Long time had Lucy wept her slighted face, And then began to smile at her disgrace. 70 Her father’s sister, who the world had seen Near sixty years when Lucy saw sixteen, Begg’d the plain girl: the gracious mother smiled, And freely gave her grieved but passive child; And with her elder-born, the [beauty-bless’d,] This parent rested, if such minds can rest. No miss her waxen babe could so admire, Nurse with such care, or with such pride attire; They were companions meet, with equal mind, Bless’d with one love, and to one point inclined: 80 Beauty to keep, adorn, increase, and guard, Was their sole care, and had its full reward. In rising splendor with the one it reign’d, } And in the other was by care sustain’d, } The daughter’s charms increased, the parent’s yet remain’d.-- } Leave we these ladies to their daily care, To see how meekness and discretion fare. A village maid, unvex’d by want or love, Could not with more delight than Lucy move; The village-lark, high mounted in the spring, 90 Could not with purer joy than Lucy sing; Her cares all light, her pleasures all sincere, Her duty joy, and her companion dear; In tender friendship and in true respect Lived aunt and niece, no flattery, no neglect-- They read, walk’d, visited--together pray’d, Together slept the matron and the maid. There was such goodness, such pure nature seen In Lucy’s looks, a manner so serene; Such harmony in motion, speech, and air, 100 That without fairness she was more than fair; Had more than beauty in each speaking grace, That lent their cloudless glory to the face; Where mild good sense in placid looks were shown, And felt in every bosom but her own. The one presiding feature in her mind, Was the pure meekness of a will resign’d; A tender spirit, freed from all pretence Of wit, and pleased in mild benevolence; Bless’d in protecting fondness she reposed, 110 With every wish indulged though undisclosed; But love, like zephyr on the limpid lake, } Was now the bosom of the maid to shake, } And in that gentle mind a gentle strife to make. } Among their chosen friends, a favour’d few, The aunt and niece a youthful rector knew;